A young(ish), up-and-coming heavyweight with a reputation for big power – already making inroads in the top ten rankings – obliterates a faded former contender in less than a round. He’s now seen as a devastating monster. The top dogs in the division are in deep trouble…

Yep, this was May 29, 1969, when Mac Foster took just a single round to smash former top contender Thad Spencer.

Well, it was really May 11, 1981, when Gerry Cooney destroyed a still-serviceable Ken Norton in 54 seconds.

Oh, I actually meant February 19, 1991, the day that Tommy Morrison crushed former titlist and top contender Pinklon Thomas in a single frame.

Sorry, I meant this was November 7, 1997, when Michael Grant demolished former contender Jorge Luis Gonzalez in just two minutes.

You thought I was talking about Deontay Wilder?

Deontay Wilder may still turn out to be the real deal (although never The Real Deal), but it’s premature to say he’s going to beat the current number 1 contender Anthony Joshua on the basis of stopping Bermane Stiverne. You know, the overweight, 39 year old Bermane Stiverne, who had not been in the ring for two years, and took the fight on short notice. The Bermane Stiverne who had only one top ten scalp on his own resume – Chris Arreola, who himself had never defeated a top contender.

It also should be noted that each of the aforementioned heavyweights from the past (up to the points I noted) had compiled more impressive resumes than The Bronze Bomber. For a “world champion,” Wilder hasn’t exactly faced the toughest opposition. Not all of that is his fault, of course. Two different top five opponents managed to juice their way out of fights with Wilder. But the fact still remains that Wilder has yet to show that he belongs in the same conversation with Michael Grant and Gerry Cooney, much less any actual greats. Knocking the crap out of a faded former contender isn’t going to get him there.

Wilder is 32, still fairly young by heavyweight standards. He’s tall, has a condor-like wingspan, can throw a decent jab when he puts his mind to it, and owns a howitzer that’s attached to his right shoulder. The tools are there for something special. I just want to caution excessive enthusiasm before it’s been earned.

I’m writing this for my friends who aren’t necessarily boxing fans, but are curious about this weekend’s upcoming boxing match between Floyd Mayweather and Conor McGregor. It’s received a lot of attention, and will probably sell quite well on pay-per-view. I’ve seen quite a few friends who I know aren’t hardcore boxing fans talking about this match.

Well, here’s a handy primer for the curious:

The Participants:

Floyd Mayweather is a semi-retired 40 year old who has been one of the two or three best boxers (regardless of weight class) over the past 20 years, and is arguably among the 50 greatest boxers ever. He’s 5’7″ish, and has spent most of the last decade fighting as a welterweight (147 pounds). In his later years, he has matured into a fairly low-output, extremely accurate counter-puncher. His defensive acumen is among the best of the last 40 years, and is the primary tool for setting up his offense. He has moderate (but not insignificant) power, underrated physical strength, excellent handspeed, and superb balance. His judgement of timing and distance is maybe the best since Pernell Whitaker made elite fighters look silly 25 years ago. He has demonstrated solid durability and recuperative powers, but he has rarely been tagged cleanly, and hasn’t had to demonstrate that toughness very often.

Floyd has a few weaknesses, but they have yet to force him to officially lose a fight. His punch output is low, he tends to pick his shots carefully, and he starts slowly, often ceding early rounds to otherwise inferior opponents. Owing in part to brittle hands, as well as an aversion to back-and-forth slugging, he is often content to coast late in fights, doing enough to win rounds, but not enough to force a stoppage. Volume and pressure have given him trouble, but usually not for the whole fight. On just two occasions out of forty-nine, a solid argument could be made that he lost or drew with his opponent. The educated pressure and underrated skills of Jose Luis Castillo pushed Mayweather to the brink way back in 2002, when both men were mere lightweights. And more recently, the hyper aggressive caveman style of Marcos Maidana pushed Floyd out of his comfort zone and made for an even fight on my scorecard.

Beyond that, Floyd Mayweather, even two years removed from his last professional bout, would likely be made a significant favorite against almost every boxer currently competing between 140 and 154 pounds. He’s a future hall-of-famer, and one of the greats.

Next up is Conor McGregor…

Conor McGregor is not a boxer.

Okay, that’s it.

I’m kidding. Mostly.

Conor McGregor is an elite mixed martial arts participant. He stands around 5’9″, and has jumped around weightclasses, but has primarily fought at 155 pounds in recent years.

Fighting for the UFC, he has established himself as a talented striker. His boxing skills are considered quite good for MMA, and he had some experience as a teenager in amateur boxing.

That said, Conor has never boxed as a professional. Boxing skills in mixed martial arts don’t translate directly to boxing. The techniques tend to be different, owing (in part) to much different footwork. Boxers don’t need to worry about kicks or wrestling takedowns, so they are able to focus purely on punching (and punch defense) in a way that MMA practitioners aren’t. Boxers are able to “sit down” on their punches, putting significantly greater power into their shots. MMA fighters planting themselves to punch, boxing style, become vulnerable to a leg kick or takedown that would spell trouble.

In addition, the elites in both sports generally take up their craft at young ages, often before puberty. The mental conditioning and muscle memory that is developed from literally growing up with the sport is absolutely essential in separating the good from the special.

Conor boxed some in his teens, but has entirely focused on MMA for the past decade. Meanwhile, Floyd was raised by his father and two uncles – all three being talented pro boxers. Floyd fought as an amateur while still in elementary school. By the time he turned professional in 1996, he had already spent more than a decade in and around the ring.

So all that being said, what should a viewer expect?

Well, this fight will be held in Mayweather’s comfort zone – boxing. If Floyd had agreed to face McGregor in the octagon, this discussion would be a very different one. But this is going to be a boxing match.

So, to any casual fan who may have heard of these guys, but doesnt know all that much detail, let me tell you now – this won’t be competitive. At all.

Floyd Mayweather is more than a decade older, he hasn’t fought in 2 years, and he’s naturally smaller, standing an inch or two shorter, and walking around 20 or 30 pounds lighter.

And none of that should matter.

Mayweather’s last few opponents (save for Maidana) all shared the distinction of being somewhat past their prime when they faced Floyd. And each of those men are now, a few years later, either retired, or basically washed up. And all of them, right now, each old and creaky, would embarrass Conor McGregor in the ring, without much effort.

The difference in applicable skill and experience is going to be too much for the Irishman to overcome. If Floyd is rusty and out of shape, it may be possible that he would start slowly, taking his time, and occasionally appear uncomfortable with Conor’s awkward bumrushing. This might create some false hope among the McGregor fans. But Floyd will be able to get comfortable, find his rhythm, and start making Conor look like… well, a novice boxer. The difference in size and strength will mean little if McGregor can’t get close to Mayweather. After 4 or 5 rounds of swinging and missing, Conor will discover that boxing conditioning is different from MMA conditioning. He’s going to be exhausted, demoralized, and likely eating sharp crosses and hooks every time Floyd allows him to get close.

I would imagine that Floyd, not being in the ring with an elite boxer, will feel safe enough to put on a show. But at some point, he’ll likely get bored of playing matador. He’ll start planting his feet and putting anger into his shots sometime between rounds 3 and 6, depending on his level of interest, and McGregor’s fatigue. Floyd can and likely will choose to end the fight whenever he wants, especially after giving the fans some time to get drunk.

Conor’s only hope may be to take a page out of the Marcos Maidana playbook. Back in 2014, Maidana combined an absurdly high-output attack with strange angles, lots of shoving, and borderline (sometimes clear) fouls to take an early lead and win 5 or 6 total rounds against Floyd, mostly by keeping him off balance and on constant defense.

Conor may want to try something like that, but it’s doubtful he could maintain the sort of frenetic pace that Maidana set. And even Marcos eventually slowed down as the fight wore on. Also, Maidana, despite possessing a relatively crude technique, still owned a decent jab, and had a command of basic boxing footwork. Conor would look far less polished than even the caveman from Argentina.

My record with predictions is a spotty one. Boxing is notoriously unpredictable, and multiple factors can alter the course of a fight. But if I were to make a prediction, I would say Floyd plays defense over the first three or four rounds, juking, dodging, blocking, and in general making Conor swing and miss over and over. Floyd will understand he could open up and drop McGregor pretty much at will, so he’ll restrict his offense to relatively light counters – just enough to slow the Irishman down. But by the fourth or fifth round, McGregor will be winded, his hands will drop, and Floyd will decide to end the fight in style. Expect a brave McGregor to pick himself off the mat a few times, and be saved by the referee somewhere between rounds 5 and 7.

Muhammad Ali fought a quasi mixed martial arts fight with Japanese wrestler Antonio Inoki. Archie Moore boxed against a pro wrestler in his final fight. Floyd Patterson defended the Heavyweight Championship against a former Olympian making his pro debut. Chuck Wepner sort-of fought Andre the Giant. Goofy exhibitions are not unheard of in boxing. Several prominent boxers have also tried their gloves at MMA, to mostly limited success. The fact that this fight is a pointless farce may not turn people away. Hell, it may even turn out to be a fun show. If someone wants to spend the money, I hope they have a good time. But it should be understood that this is a semi-retired star boxer facing off in a boxing match against a complete novice. It won’t mean anything in the actual world of boxing or mixed martial arts. But it will make some people a lot of money. Which I suppose was always the point.

It’s no secret that boxing is a hard sport. But when I say that it’s hard, I don’t just mean the training, or the physical difficulty of actual fighting. Jimmy Cannon famously described boxing as “the red light district of sports.” It’s full of rough characters and macho personalities. It’s poorly regulated, has been manipulated by criminals, and is frequently corrupt. A huge number of participants have met untimely ends, and not always in the ring. Fighters frequently fall victim to drugs and alcohol. Performance-enhancing drugs are prevalent. It really is a rough world.

Michael Dokes is a famous example of a fighter caught up in the seedier side of the business. It kept him from performing to his impressive potential. But even with a “disappointing” career, Dokes managed to fight professionally for 21 years, and stepped into the ring with a multitude of top contenders. He managed to win an alphabet belt, won the Comeback of the Year Award from the Ring Magazine in 1988, and was one half of arguably the best heavyweight fight of the 1980s.

Dokes came out of Akron, Ohio, and had a sterling amateur career, compiling a record of 147-7. He won multiple amateur titles at light heavyweight and heavyweight, including the 1976 Heavyweight Golden Gloves. That title included victories over future professional beltholders Greg Page and John Tate. He would lose in the Olympic qualifiers against Tate in a rematch in 1976, and would just miss out on a great American Olympic team.

Dokes would shrug off his Olympic rejection, and turn pro in October 1976. He would start his career impressively, scoring 17 straight wins (8 by knockout) to kick off his pro career. That run included a decision victory over former contender (and still crafty) Jimmy Young. In April 1980, Dokes would suffer his first setback, being held to a draw against fringe contender Ossie Ocasio. Two months later, the man known as “Dynamite” would gain revenge, blasting Ocasio out in 1 painful round. Two fights later, and Dokes would outpoint fellow prospect Randall “Tex” Cobb over 10. By this point, Dokes had filled out from his initial slender physique from the start of his career, and was fighting between 212 and 216 pounds. His power improved, and he began doing more damage, to go along with his fast hands.

Dokes would sport a 25-0-1(14) record and a top 3 ranking going into his December 1982 match with fellow top 3 contender (and WBA beltholder) Mike Weaver. Dokes jumped on the slow-starting Weaver quickly, and put Weaver down with a pair of left hooks in the first round. Weaver appeared to recover well, and wasn’t badly hurt. However, Dokes pressured him into the ropes and went for the kill immediately. Weaver was covering up, and not taking too much punishment, when referee Joey Curtis apparently panicked and stopped the fight. Weaver’s camp protested, and a fight broke out between the fighter’s corners in the ring. Most agreed that Weaver was in no immediate danger, including the ring doctor. Nevertheless, Dokes officially scored a first round TKO over a top contender and titlist. Dokes became the number 1 contender, second only to Champion Larry Holmes.

Due to the nature of the last fight, Dokes and Weaver agreed to do it again. May 1983, the two men went toe-to-toe for 15 exciting rounds. After injuring his thumb in the 3rd round, Dokes’ jab seemed to slow, and Weaver’s pressure started getting to Dokes. Dynamite never quit, but Weaver appeared to get the better of him later in the fight. Most observers scored the fight as a Weaver victory by 2 or 3 rounds. They were angered when a draw was declared. Dokes retained the WBA belt in controversial fashion, albeit a different type of controversy from their last go-round.

Dokes was now a name in the boxing world, for reasons both good and bad. But he was definitely a top heavyweight. Taking on number 3 ranked South African banger Gerrie Coetzee, Dokes was a significant favorite. But Dokes fought surprisingly poorly in what was meant to be something of a homecoming fight. The limited but powerful Coetzee dropped Dokes with his vaunted right hand in the 5th, and then again for the count in the 10th. Ring Magazine called it their Upset of the Year for 1983. Dokes admitted he was unprepared for the fight having “trained on Jack Daniels and cocaine.”

Dokes took almost a year off, and spent much of the time in between Coetzee and his comeback partying. Cocaine, marijuana, alcohol…. he just used and wasted money, and blew away his winnings. He would keep fighting, but mostly journeymen. He did score an unsatisfying technical decision over Tex Cobb in a rematch in 1985. Otherwise, he was just treading water, and faded out of contention, and into the criminal justice system.

After the Cobb fight, Dokes would be inactive for more than two years. He ballooned in weight, spent a couple months in jail, and was in general, a mess. But in boxing, there’s always a comeback just around the corner. In this case, Dokes stepped back into the ring in December 1987, now weighing 245 pounds. Over the next year, he would fight his way back into shape, and gradually back into contention. One year into his comeback, Dokes would have eight straight wins under his belt, and a shot at former unified cruiserweight champion and (new heavyweight contender) Evander Holyfield.

Dokes had been worn down by drug use and late nights, and a career not exactly conducive to long-term health. But he forced himself into shape, and in March 1989, Dokes and Holyfield went to war. Dokes put on his last great performance, taking the fight to the younger, fresher man, and forcing Holyfield to brawl. Dokes didn’t move as well as he did in his prime, but his hands were still fast, and he stayed competitive in a classic fight.

After 9 rounds, Holyfield was ahead on the cards, but the fight itself was contested on even terms. But youth would prevail, and Holyfield would break through in the 10th, catching Dokes with a pair of big left hooks that drove him into the ropes and out on his feet. Richard Steele stepped in and stopped the fight.

It was arguably Dokes’ finest hour, and it was still a loss. He could hold his head high, and was a legit contender once again. But the demons remained, and Dokes would continue to struggle with drug use. Four straight wins over uninspiring opponents would follow, along with arrests for possession. Dokes would take on Canadian power puncher Donovan “Razor” Ruddock in April 1990, and was overweight, undertrained, and distracted. Ruddock absolutely trucked Dokes, knocking him completely unconscious in the 4th round.

But a clear pattern had emerged with Dokes, and he seemed hellbent on repeating it. A big loss, followed by a break, wins over relative nobodies, leading to another big loss. Rinse and repeat.

And sure enough, over a year would pass without a fight, then Dokes would start taking on journeymen in rapid succession. Nine straight wins would lead to an embarrassing 1st round blowout loss to heavyweight champion Riddick Bowe. Dokes had no business being in the ring that night, and Bowe proved it.

Dokes would take off another year and change, and this time he was fighting around 280 pounds. He beat a trio of clubfighters in 1995 and 1996, and then finally ceased to even be able to beat that level, losing twice in 1997 to non-contenders.

In 1998, the troubled Dokes brutally assaulted his girlfriend, and after two years of legal wrangling, would be sent to prison, where he remained until 2008. He returned home to Akron upon his release, and managed to get by on his name, signing autographs and appearing at events. He died in 2012 of liver cancer at the age of 54.

Boxing claimed yet another victim. The lifestyle chewed him up and spat him out. But Dokes was talented enough that he still managed to carve out a good career.

Lem Franklin is a fighter that seems to have been largely forgotten. However, for a few brief years he was not only a top contender, but a feared puncher and was acknowledged as a scary opponent. He also is another fighter on this list whose career ended in tragedy.

“Lammin'” Lem’s (they don’t make nicknames like that anymore) professional career started inauspiciously, with a majority decision loss to fellow prospect Paul Williams. His early career from mid 1937 until the end of 1938 was a learning experience, featuring more losses than we normally see from modern boxing prospects. Franklin would start off 8-3-0-1(7), including a no contest against Paul Williams, and a brutal loss to journeyman Eddie Simms.

Following the Simms loss, Lem would bounce back, scoring a quick knockout over future contender Lee Savold, and a decision win over another future contender in Abe Simon. He would then lose to yet another future contender, a decision against Tony Musto. Had those three fights occurred a few years later, his ranking here might be quite a bit higher.

He would take a few months off following that loss, and come back fighting to a draw against Clarence Brown. Another loss to Eddie Simms, and a no-contest against Andy Miller would occur soon after, but be mixed in with wins over prospect Perk Daniels and fringe contenders Buddy Millard and Willie Reddish. Franklin would go on a tear through 1940 and 1941, beating an array of fringe contenders, prospects, and tough journeymen. In July 1941, Lem would mount a rousing comeback to stop future top contender (and future Hall-of-Famer) Jimmy Bivins nine rounds into an exciting fight. Less than a month later, he would finally get a win over Eddie Simms, knocking him out in 7. He would then obilterate future contender Curtis Sheppard in 5, blast out Tony Musto in 2, and then smash Abe Simon in 5. That win over Simon was his first win over a currently-ranked contender. At that point, it was October 1941, and Franklin was on a heck of a roll. He would finish the year ranked number 2 in the division, just behind Billy Conn and champion Joe Louis. He had won 16 straight fights, including 14 by knockout. He was pushing hard for a shot at Louis, following the Simon win, and was confidently predicting a victory, should the shot arrive.

Of course, this is boxing, and boxing is nothing if not cruel to almost all its participants. Franklin’s success would not last. Two more wins would start 1942, but then his career would unravel quickly. Bob Pastor knocked Lem out in 8 rounds in late February. One month later, Franklin and Harry Bobo would exchange knockdowns in the first round, but Bobo would score more of them, winning in that very first round. Three months after that, prospect Joe Muscato would score a first round TKO over Lem.

Three straight knockout losses immediately following a number 2 ranking was discouraging to say the least. A sixth month layoff followed, and then a quick knockout win over Altus Allen helped put Lem back into the win column. He would then rematch Lee Savold, who himself was now a legit contender. Franklin started strong, dropping Savold early, and building a big points lead. But by the eight round, Savold had turned the tide, and was beating Franklin up. In the 10th, a huge right hand landed for Lee, and put Lem down for the count. A third fight between the two men occurred just two months later. This time, Franklin started strong again, scoring knockdowns in the first and second, but he wilted faster than before, and Savold knocked him out in the eighth.

Two more months followed, and this time Lem lasted the distance, but still lost, to top contender Gus Dorazio. Two more months, and this time he couldn’t keep his feet, getting knocked out for the ten count by Dan Merritt, a club fighter with a losing record. He dropped Merritt hard twice in the first, but walked right into a sloppy right hand that ended things in that first round.

His punch resistance was seemingly shot, he had lost 4 in a row, and 7 out of 8. And now he had been stopped in 1 by a clubfighter. Franklin officially announced his retirement after the Merritt debacle.

But the lure of the ring is a strong one. Comebacks are common. Franklin decided to try one just 11 months after losing to Dan Merritt. And in this case, his comeback would be a tragic mistake. In July 1944, Franklin made a comeback attempt against 8-6-3 Colion Chaney. It was a barnburner of a scrap, with both fighters tasting the canvas. Franklin prevailed in 5 rounds, but his chin was still clearly a liability.

“Lammin'” Lem Franklin was a good fighter who suffered from some bad luck early, and a lot of bad luck later. He beat some good opponents who were not quite yet legitimate contenders when he got to them. His punch resistance faded pretty quickly through his career, and may have led to his untimely death. Considering how his comeback went, it was probably ill-advised. But for a time, he was a scary fighter with a huge punch. He made for exciting fights, and gave his all every time out. And of course, that nickname.

Joe Erskine came along during a rather deep era for British heavyweights. Henry Cooper, Dick Richardson, Don Cockell, Jack Bodell, Joe Bygraves, and Brian London all roamed the heavyweight division, each contending at or near a world-class level. And Erskine faced almost all of them.

Erskine was a smallish heavyweight with good speed and underrated slickness. He was a deceptively nimble boxer, and had received quite a bit of praise from American trainers, including Muhammad Ali’s trainer, Angelo Dundee. It was generally agreed what held Erskine back from greatness was his relatively small stature and lack of a big punch.

After a lengthy and successful amateur career, Erskine turned pro in 1954. Over his first three years, he would amass a 29-0-1(10) record. His best wins during this span included 10 round decisions over young versions of Henry Cooper and Dick Richardson, and a 15 round decision over Johnny Williams for the British Heavyweight title.

It should also be noted that he fought Simon Templar and Ansell Adams back to back. When I came across those names in boxrec.com, I assumed it was a prank or an error. But the best I was able to ascertain, there were indeed two heavyweight boxers in the late 1950s by those names. I figured that the Saint could probably handle himself in the ring, but I guessed that Adams should probably have stuck with photography.

But I digress.

Erskine finally lost when he stepped up against longtime contender Nino Valdes in his 31st pro fight. Valdes caught him early with a big shot, dropping him 30 seconds into the contest. Erskine was up before 10, but the big Cuban poured on the pressure, and forced the stoppage in the first round.

Erskine bounced back quickly, beating Peter Bates three months later. He then decisioned Henry Cooper in a defense of the British title, and then Joe Bygraves immediately after. This led to what would essentially amount to a title eliminator against up-and-coming Swedish banger Ingemar Johansson. The winner of the fight was promised a shot at Floyd Patterson. Johansson would prove to be too big, too skilled, and too powerful. He imposed his size and strength on Erskine from the beginning, and was way ahead on points when he finally chopped Erskine down in the 13th round.

Four months later, Erskine would take on regional rival Brian London, and would be surprisingly knocked out in just 8 rounds by his fellow Brit. Erskine would take 5 months off, and return with a win over a club fighter in a get-well fight. He would then notch his first win over a top contender, beating former light heavyweight champion Willie Pastrano via 10 round decision. Two more 10 round wins would bring Erskine back into the ring against old for Henry Cooper, in November 1959. This time, Cooper was no longer green and inexperienced. Henry took the fight to Erskine, and battered him into submission in the 12th round.

A rare knockout ten months later against a journeyman followed, and then a decision over German fringe contender Ulli Ritter. These wins pushed Joe back into the ring for a fourth fight with Henry Cooper. And this time, Cooper blew him away with easy, dominating the fight with just his jab, slicing Erskine up and forcing him to quit after 5 rounds.

Erskine was looking like a potentially spent force, but he still had some fight left in him. He would score a disqualification win over rising prospect George Chuvalo after 5 rounds, in a rough fight. He would then face Cooper once more, and once again Cooper would blow Erskine away, taking 9 rounds this time.

After the 5th match with Cooper, Erskine would fade from contention, posting a 6-2(1) record against solid competition over the next two years. Joe would retire after a 10 round loss to British prospect Johnny Walker.

Erskine is a good example of a heavyweight who might have benefited from having a cruiserweight division. He gave great fighters tough fights, and was surprisingly quick and skilled. But he was always just a bit underpowered against the best of the big men.

The pride of Woodburn, Oregon started his career as a tall, lanky welterweight in 1941 at just 17 years old. He fought seven times over 6 months, scoring six wins and a draw, before taking 18 months off. Kahut returned in December 1942 fighting between middleweight and light heavyweight. He wouldn’t lose until his 26th fight, against the great Lloyd Marshall, at light heavyweight.

Fighting primarily in Portland, Oregon, Kahut would make his heavyweight debut in March 1945, knocking out a solid club fighter in Jack Huber, just 3 rounds into the contest. The formerly lanky boxer had filled out to a solid 180 pounds. He spent most of the year at heavyweight, but his final fight of 1945 occurred in a good win against Fitzie Fitzpatrick at light heavy, securing himself a top ten rating at 175.

Kahut was scheduled to face light heavyweight champion Gus Lesnevich in January 1946, but Kahut was struggling to make weight, and the fight was eventually changed to a non-title heavyweight bout. Lesnevich landed a good right hand early that shook Kahut, and he overwhelmed and stopped the Oregonian in the first round.

Kahut bounced back quickly, however, and would fight 9 more times that year, against both heavyweights and light heavyweights. He would beat Fitzie Fitzpatrick twice more, as well as fighting to a draw against him. He would lose for a second time against Costello Cruz. And Kahut would outpoint the much larger heavyweight former contender Freddie Schott.

Hovering around 180 pounds allowed Kahut to switch between the two largest divisions, but once 1947 started, he seemed to settle in as a smallish heavyweight for good. He would lose a close one against Bobby Zander, in 1947, then sit out until 1947, where he would lose to Bill Peterson and the great Joey Maxim. But Kahut would also knock Zander out in a return bout, and beat Roy Hawkins, Jerry McSwain, and even controversially edge Maxim in a rematch. The Maxim win was unpopular, but it did give Kahut his first top ten heavyweight scalp.

After that, Kahut would mostly face fringe contenders and regional favorites, usually in Portland. In 1950, Kahut would barely drop a decision to former contender Rusty Payne. He would also lose to Rex Layne, get beat up in a no-decision against Payne again, and lose decisions to Frank Buford, Ron Whittle, and Pat Comiskey, the last of which had been a contender years prior.

Kahut would settle into gatekeeper status from there. He would beat journeymen like Billy Carter (three times), and Bernie Reynolds, lose to greats like Ezzard Charles and good contenders like Cesar Brion and Freddie Beshore.

Kahut would fight on to 1954, where he ended his career losing three straight – a decision to Bill Boatsman, a quick knockout against Earl Walls, and a 9th round knockout to clubfighter Jimmy Byrne.

Kahut was never a great fighter, but he was a skilled boxer who was good enough to contend in two weight classes. As he aged, he provided a solid test for great fighters, and acted as a gatekeeper against those not good enough to reach contender status.

Boxing is a dangerous sport. That’s about as obvious a statement as it gets. But it shouldn’t be taken for granted that this is a combat sport. Almost every sport that features strenuous physical activity has had participants suffer severe injuries, and even death.

Boxing is different from most sports, in that the entire point is that each event is a literal fistfight. And when two people fight, sometimes they get hurt. And yes, sometimes they die. Modern boxing, even as unregulated corrupt, and chaotic as it can be, still includes safeguards against tragedy. Participants are subject to regular physicals, commissions attempt to keep an eye on the safety of events, and doctors are present at each fight. It could be much worse.

However, when two people are actively trying to hurt one another, sometimes they succeed more than anticipated. Ring deaths have occurred throughout history, and occasionally to well-known boxers. This ranking will include a handful of fighters who died due to ring-inflicted injuries. There are also a few that caused such injury themselves.

Alejandro Lavorante is one such fighter. Lavorante came out of Argentina, with an underrated boxing culture, including a handful of heavyweight greats. Lavorante was a tall, strong prospect, considered by many to be the most promising young heavyweight to hail from Argentina since Luis Firpo some 30 years earlier. He was “discovered” by Firpo’s conqueror Jack Dempsey while he was fighting as an amateur in Venezuela.

Lavorante came to the States and turned pro in 1959, fighting mostly around San Antonio, Texas. He dominated the usual journeymen in his first four fights, but then, quite strangely, was thrown in against a legitimate top ten heavyweight in just his fifth pro fight. Roy Harris had lost in a bid for Floyd Patterson’s heavyweight title a year earlier, and demonstrated his ceiling in that stoppage loss, Nonetheless, he was one of the top ten heavies in the world, and far more experienced than Lavorante. Harris won a wide decision over 10 rounds, outclassing his novice foe.

Lavorante learned a great deal from the experience, and moved on from the loss with renewed fire. Over the next year, he blew away eight journeymen, including tough veterans like Duke Sabedong and Tunney Hunsaker. This led to May 11, 1961. The 12-1 Lavorante stepped into the ring against his second top-ten foe, Zora Folley, The slick and talented Folley had been waiting for some time to get a shot at Floyd Patterson’s title. He suffered a few losses along the way, but maintained his status near the top of the division. He figured to stay busy against a tough but limited opponent in Lavorante. Instead, Lavorante overwhelmed the older man, dropping Folley four times in the 6th and 7th rounds, winning by KO in 7. This win catapulted Lavorante into the top ten, and his handlers reportedly offered champion Floyd Patterson a fight with the Argentine sensation. That fight never came to fruition, but he stayed busy, beating five journeymen in as many months, before facing fellow contender George Logan in December ’61. In Logan’s hometown of Boise, Lavorante was arguably robbed, losing a narrow 10 round split decision. The debatable loss didn’t hurt Alejandro too badly in overall esteem, and he ended 1961 with his top ten ranking intact.

March 1962 was a different story. Lavorante took his 19-2 record into the ring against 214 fight veteran, light heavyweight champion, and boxing legend Archie Moore. The Old Mongoose was 45 years old, and while clearly a diminished force, had forgotten more about boxing than Lavorante could even imagine. Despite size and youth advantages, Moore used his savvy, defense, and underrated physical tools to take the much younger man apart. Moore beat Lavorante to a pulp, and stopped him in ten one-sided rounds. Lavorante was taken from the ring on a stretcher. The loss to Moore did not lead to a rebuilding phase the way we might see now. Instead, Lavorante was sent into battle less than four months later against a rising young contender named Cassius Clay, who you may have heard of. Clay was far too clever and fast for Lavorante, and he punished him, dropping him twice in the 5th, prompting a referee stoppage.

At this point, the two brutal losses just four months apart were cause for concern. A long break would have been warranted, and an honest appraisal of the situation could have led to retirement. Instead, Lavorante’s team decided to jump back in just two months later, this time against an admittedly lesser foe. Journeyman John Riggins was likely considered a “get-well” fight. And for most of five rounds, it seemed to go that way, with Lavorante winning handily. But late in the 5th, Riggins landed a big shot that hurt badly, and Lavorante wasn’t the same in the 6th, being wobbled repeatedly throughout the round. He was finally dropped and counted out, courtesy of a left hook.

At that point, Lavorante fell unconscious, and was taken to the hospital, where he underwent brain surgery for multiple brain bleeds. He was in a coma for over a month, and eventually was brought to a state of semi-consciousness. He spent more than a year unable to open his eyes, though he did respond to some stimuli. Eventually, he died in his native Argentina, on April 1, 1964. He was just 27 years old.

It’s likely that Riggins himself may have been less responsible for Lavorante’s injuries than damage caused in two closely-spaced losses against talented opponents. Riggins just happened to be the last straw on an already-teetering structure.

Many boxing historians tend to scoff at the modern habit of elite boxers only fighting a few times a year. Certainly it makes it more difficult to hone one’s skills when taking 6 months between fights. However, there is something to be said for allowing the body to rest between punishing physical contests. It’s possible that Lavorante may have had a better shot at survival had he waited longer between the Moore and Clay fights. We will never know for certain. But it can be said that boxing is still a dangerous business. And Alejandro Lavorante – young, handsome, talented, and charismatic – paid the ultimate price for embracing that danger.

Alvin Lewis is something of a mystery. There isn’t a lot of biographical information on the man known as Blue available on the interwebs.

What is known is that he was a big heavyweight for his era, standing 6’3″, and weighing around 220 in his prime. He had some boxing skills and some power, although he wasn’t outstanding in either category. He was also known to be a popular sparring partner, having provided sparring work for Muhammad Ali and George Foreman, as well as several other elite heavyweights of the era.

Blue turned pro in June 1966, and won 14 straight bouts over the next year-and-a half. He was upset in December ’67 by 12-11 journeyman Bob Stallings, finding himself stopped in 7 rounds.

Lewis would bounce back quickly, stopping a clubfighter in 7 rounds, four months later, and then rematching Stallings a month after that. This time, Blue won a 10 round decision, and could move on with his career.

In July 1968, Lewis got his first crack at a real contender, and impressed everyone, blowing away Eduardo Corletti in 2 rounds. He’d win a third fight over Bob Stallings, then take on contender Leotis Martin that November. Lewis started out well, dropping the smaller man with the first punch thrown in the fight. But Martin was a smart and crafty boxer, and gradually worked his way back into the fight. He wore Lewis down, and put him on the canvas three times in the 9th to score the stoppage.

Lewis got a shot at immediate redemption, taking a rematch with Martin just three months later. This time, the fight went the distance, but once again, Blue couldn’t quite get past Martin, dropping a 10 round split nod.

Lewis would spend the next couple years working his way back into contention. He won 7 straight, including a knockout over a faded Cleveland Williams. In October 1971, those wins led to a fight with contender Oscar Bonavena. Blue fought well, and held his own, but managed to lose by disqualification in the 7th round.

His performance was solid enough to merit a shot at his former sparring partner (and former champ) Muhammad Ali. The Greatest was on the comeback trail from his loss to Joe Frazier the previous year, and was doing something of a world tour, facing mostly elite opposition. He picked Blue as his dance partner for a fight in Ireland, of all places. The fight itself was the subject of a fun documentary, When Ali Came to Ireland. It also was relatively one sided. Blue came to fight, and occasionally disrupted Ali’s rhythm with sporadic charges. But Ali was in a different class. He knocked Lewis down hard at the end of the 5th round, and had the knockdown occurred with a bit more time in the round, he might have stopped him there. Lewis would endure for a while longer, but Ali gradually took him apart, and forced a referee stoppage in the 11th.

The loss to Ali ended Blue’s time as a contender. He would score a win in his next fight, but then lose to fringe contender (and future actor) Jack O’Halloran in a bit of a surprise. Blue would follow it up with three more wins to close out 1973, but none were against serious contenders.

After that, as mentioned above, I don’t have much information on Lewis, except that he is considered a respected trainer these days in Detroit. And for a few years in the middle of the heavyweight golden age of the late 60s through early 70s, Al “Blue” Lewis was a significant name and occasional contender. He got to fight Ali, and was one half of a good documentary (albeit one that didn’t spend much time on him). If I discover more about the man as I write these, I will update it here.

Throughout heavyweight history, there have been plenty of fighters who started off as blue-chip prospects, and eventually disappointed. This is inevitable. For every major success, there are a dozen failures. I’ve already covered a handful of promising young fighters who burned out early, or were put in against tough competition before they were ready. Busted prospects will be a recurring theme of this project. Even very successful fighters can be considered underachievers.

Buster Mathis is a great example of this. He was a decorated amateur, selected to represent the US in the 1964 Olympics. Fate did not smile upon him, however. Mathis was injured before he could travel to Tokyo. Instead, Joe Frazier, the man he beat in the Olympic trials, won the gold at heavyweight in his stead.

Mathis was a large man, standing 6’3″, and early in his career weighing well in excess of 250 pounds. This was in an era where the average heavyweight frequently weighed around 200, and sometimes below. He actually turned pro weighing exactly 300 pounds. This was June of 1965. Despite his bulk, he moved well in the ring, specializing in a smooth, long-range style. He had solid power, but worked behind a long jab. As his career got going, he lost weight, working himself into shape. For his sixth fight, against fellow prospect (and future contender) Chuck Wepner, Mathis was down to 267. Three fights later, he was down to 245, where he would consistently remain for more than a year.

By the end of 1967, Mathis was 23-0(17). He had faced numerous journeymen and club fighters, but no serious contenders. Despite his Olympic pedigree, and two-and-a-half years as a pro, Mathis was untested against tough opposition. Chuck Wepner may have been his best opponent up to that point. And yet, despite his limited professional opposition, the former amateur legend was thrown into the deep waters for the first time in March of 1968.

At 19-0, Joe Frazier was already considered the best heavyweight in the world not named Muhammad Ali. The former amateur victim of Mathis had beaten the likes of Oscar Bonavena, Eddie Machen, Doug Jones, and George Chuvalo. He was battle-tested, and already experienced at the elite level. Mathis had beaten Frazier before, but that was practically a lifetime before, in ring terms. They were both different men now.

The fight itself was competitive early on. For about 6 rounds, Mathis boxed well, and made Frazier work for it. As the fight wore on, Frazier grew stronger, and started working over Mathis, especially to the body. Mathis was eventually overwhelmed by the ferocity and power of the smaller man, and Frazier ended matters with his signature left hook late in the 11th. The massive bomb dropped Mathis for the first time in his career, prompting a referee stoppage.

Mathis was devastated by the loss. gaining weight, and suffering from depression. But he would find it in himself to bounce back, winning five straight through the remainder of 1968. In February 1969, Mathis got his second shot at a contender, this time in the form of the inhumanly durable Canadian pressure fighter George Chuvalo. This time, after a sloppy and foul-filled start, Mathis settled down, and beat Chuvalo up from long range. After 12 rounds, Mathis won a wide and brutal 12 round decision. He was now ranked in the top ten by the Ring, and was a legitimate contender.

Just a month and a half later, Mathis would take on his next contender, the Bellflower Bomber, Jerry Quarry. Based on the strength of his competitive showing against Frazier, and his solid win over Chuvalo, Mathis was installed as the favorite. Quarry was known as being talented, but inconsistent. It was thought that the skills, speed, and size of Mathis would prove too much for the smaller Quarry.

Quarry wasn’t listening to the predictions, though, and showed Mathis no respect in what turned into a one-sided beating. Quarry dropped Mathis with a big right hand in the second, and then had his way in the fight from then on. Quarry hurt Mathis repeatedly, especially to the body, and never let the larger man get settled. After 12 rounds, Quarry won a clear decision, and Mathis ended up taking a break from boxing.

A long break.

In fact, Mathis wouldn’t enter the ring again for more than two-and-a-half years. And when he did, it was for a big payday against a comebacking Muhammad Ali. The Greatest was coming off his loss to Joe Frazier, and a comeback win over Jimmy Ellis. After 30 months away, and only a brief run of serious contention before that, Mathis was not considered to be a credible threat to Ali. Instead, he represented a tune up before bigger fights.

It turned out that “tune-up” was accurate. Mathis was rusty and overweight, and Ali took advantage, out-boxing him thoroughly. By the later rounds, Mathis had been beaten up. Ali dropped him twice in the 11th, and twice more in the 12th, coming close to scoring a stoppage. Mathis hung in there, and managed to last the distance. But the loss to Ali halted any possible career momentum Mathis might have had.

Mathis would be out of action for another ten months, before returning to the ring in something of a stunt fight. Mathis had ballooned back up in weight, and at 280 pounds, would face the 260 pound Claude McBride in a fight concocted by referee and promoter Lew Eskin. The idea was to create a “super heavyweight” division and championship, an idea tried in the 1930s, and also discussed at times in the 21st century.

The super heavyweight dream died swiftly, but Mathis did score an easy 3rd round KO win – his first win in three-and-a-half years. This win led straight into a fight just a few weeks later against rising undefeated prospect Ron Lyle. The powerful Lyle was actually older than Mathis, but turned pro in his late 20s after a stint in prison, where he first learned to box. While no longer a contender, Mathis was definitely a competitive step up for Lyle, and represented a potentially stiff test. Instead, Lyle demolished Mathis in two short rounds. Lyle would go on to title challenges and perennial contention for years. Mathis would never fight again.

Buster Mathis would go on to work in trucking. His son, Buster Mathis Jr., would enjoy a modestly successful career as a heavyweight fringe contender in the 1990s. Mathis would suffer from health issues after boxing, in particular due to his weight, which eventually reached 550 pounds. He died in 1995 at age 52.

Mathis is rightly remembered as one of the all-time great amateur boxers. A lack of discipline and consistency prevented him from turning his unpaid success into a lengthy pro career. However, even what amounted to be a relative disappointment of a pro resume still included a win over a top contender, and memorable battles against all-time greats. His failure was still more impressive than most people’s wild success.

This past Saturday, former linear champion Wladimir Klitschko did battle with up-and-coming contender Anthony Joshua. Similar size, similar attributes, similar styles, the two heavyweights were like strange mirror images of each other. Except that the old lion was being underrated in many circles, and young Joshua was being somewhat overrated.

Now, this is not a knock on Anthony Joshua. He has talent, skills, and athleticism. He’s built like a superhero, and seems like a nice guy. But he had one win over a fringe contender who probably didn’t deserve his top ten ranking, and a win over a good prospect. And that was it. Anthony Joshua looked like the goods, but he hadn’t proven it yet.

Klitschko had looked awful his last time out, throwing few punches in an awkward decision loss to walking id Tyson Fury. There was some debate after the fight, arguing whether Klitschko’s loss was due more to age and wear, Fury’s unpredictable spoiling style, Klitschko’s overall flaws, or some mix of the three. But it had seemed that many were completely dismissing the style differences between Fury and Joshua, and that Wladimir could only look worse, especially after a 17 month layoff. In many respects, he was being underrated.

Then the fight happened. It’s been covered by many good writers, and I encourage readers to check out those write-ups, as well as the fight itself. But it must be said that Wladimir Klitschko greatly exceeded expectations in a gallant, yet losing effort, and Joshua survived a gut-check to win in spectacular fashion. Both men looked good, both men went down. There were momentum shifts, toe-to-toe action, and plenty of excitement. In the loss, Klitschko still showed himself to be no less than the second best active heavyweight in the world. And Joshua beat a legit contender, as well as an all-time great. It was a great night for boxing, at a time when boxing could use more great nights.

Beyond the substance of the fight itself, the underrated/overrated aspect got me thinking. Boxing books, magazines, broadcasts, and message boards are all filled with discussions of great fighters, of losers, of excitement, of boredom. And many fighters are lifted in esteem, based on the opinions of pundits and fans. And many are basically crapped on, treated as lesser combatants, or even that dirty word… bums.

I enjoy boxing at all weights, but it’s no secret that I have a particular fondness for heavyweights, especially historical heavyweights. My ongoing 200 Greatest Heavyweights list is essentially a research project for heavyweight boxing history. And I have read thousands of pages, and watched hundreds of fights. Among heavyweights, there are several who are treated with esteem among many boxing aficionados, that may not quite deserve the pedestal they receive. And the reverse is true, where many good and great fighters remain unappreciated by those who love the sport.

This list could be made so much longer. There are literally dozens of fighters who have what I consider to be inaccurate public perceptions. But for the sake of brevity – and as you can read below, brevity is not my strong suit – I will restrict this list to four overrated and four underrated heavyweights.

Overrated

I want to emphasize here that “overrated” doesn’t mean bad. It could be argued that the greatest athletes in any sport end up being overrated, even beyond their actual greatness. This list isn’t a knock on the fighter. Indeed, there are some on my “overrated” list that rank significantly higher, historically, than several on my “underrated” list. This is simply a measure of how public esteem can triumph over reality. Anyway, here goes the overrated:

Ken Norton – Ken Norton arguably beat the Greatest 3 times. Right there, that places him on some all-time lists. The problem is, Ken didn’t actually accomplish all that much outside of the three Ali fights. Norton was strong, aggressive, powerful, defensively astute, and possessed a great jab. He matched up well against the post-layoff version of Ali that was less mobile and a bit slower than the lightning-fast 60s version. Norton’s strengths played well against Ali’s weaknesses, and he gave Ali hell three times, winning the first fight outright, losing the second in an either/or sort of match, and being arguably robbed in the third. Norton also gave Larry Holmes hell in a losing effort, fighting evenly with a still-young Easton Assassin in a classic war. He also barely edged past Jimmy Young in a fight that could have been scored either way, obliterated a likely-overrated Duane Bobick, and beat down an old Jerry Quarry. Good stuff. But far from the best resume of his era. Beyond that, he tended to get starched when facing big punchers, getting knocked out early by Foreman, Shavers, Garcia, and Cooney. He’s 4-7-1 all-time against top ten contenders, which isn’t terrible, but it definitely keeps him out of a top ten, or even thirty ranking, among all-time great heavyweights.

Riddick Bowe – I have spent some time recently delving into the 90’s heavyweights, and enjoying how much of an underrated era it was… especially since it was rather underappreciated at the time. I’ve been especially fascinated by the chronicles of Riddick… ahem, sorry,

Anyway, Riddick Bowe really is the 90’s equivalent to Ken Norton. Not in terms of style or personality, but in terms of how strong his reputation is compared with his actual accomplishments. I plan on reviewing his career more thoroughly when I write his bio in my top 200 list, but suffice to say, he is like Ken Norton in that he made his name by having the number of an all-time great, but his actual accomplishments outside of that opponent are pretty slim.

In total, Bowe has 6 wins over Ring-rated top ten opponents, which ties him for 46th all-time among heavyweights. Two of those wins were over Evander Holyfield, and they are certainly impressive. But he also possessed a size and style which always befuddled Evander. Holyfield struggled with taller opponents, and taller opponents with significant athleticism were even tougher. Factor in Bowe’s physical strength and infighting ability, which negated much of Holyfield’s normal advantages, and we have Holyfield Kryptonite. And he still lost one of the three fights, and was badly hurt in the other two. Now, going 2-1 against a prime Holyfield almost automatically signifies a degree of greatness. But I see plenty of people waxing nostalgic about how amazing Bowe was, and how he would obliterate the current crop of heavies. His reputation is almost entirely centered around being a tough match for Holyfield.

Beyond that, he was beaten up badly by a young Andrew Golota. Golota at his best was a pretty good fighter, but a full third of Bowe’s top ten victories came from winning by disqualification in fights he was badly losing, against a good, but not great (and very inconsistent) fighter. His other top ten wins were against Herbie Hide and Jorge Luis Gonzalez. Hide would have been great at cruiserweight, but was always outgunned by good heavies, and Gonzalez was basically just a lazy, failed prospect. Beyond the top ten, the man known as Big Daddy’s best wins came against faded former contenders like Michael Dokes and Tony Tubbs, and against fringe guys like Jesse Ferguson and Elijah Tillery. Bowe’s talent was there, but he was inconsistent, often unmotivated, washed up before 30, and had a surprisingly thin resume. Bowe was a potentially great fighter, but he never quite made it to “great” status in my eyes.

Mike Tyson – I hesitated a bit with this one. Mike is a legit all-time great. His resume is solid, even if his prime occurred during a middling era. But to hear people talk on message boards, he was virtually unstoppable. There are plenty of highlight videos on YouTube that show him looking like a beast against painfully overmatched opposition. Mike had huge power, great hand speed, solid defense in his prime, a very good chin… he was pretty much the ultimate heavyweight pressure fighter. In his prime run, he bested 7 top ten heavyweights, several in impressive fashion. He beat a pair of hall-of-famers during that run, though one was old and rusty (Holmes), the other intimidated into a shell (Spinks). But that run was brief, lasting from late 1986 to 1989. By 1989, cracks were beginning to show in his facade. And then came 1990, his unraveling against Douglas, and his fall from grace. The bad habits he developed in the late 80s and early 90s stuck with him during his comeback from prison in the mid-to-late 90s. His head movement largely disappeared, as did his jab. He tended to load up, looking for a big power shot. When an opponent could handle his power and give it back, he would frustrate and wilt. Even in his prime, he could be put off his game by a spolier using movement and a good jab. James Tillis, Mitch Green, James Smith, and Tony Tucker all lasted the distance, and Bruno hurt him early in their first fight. Tillis caught a still-developing Tyson, but he gave him fits during their 10 rounds, and a handful of observers thought a draw or a narrow win for Tillis wasn’t unreasonable. Mike could be very destructive when in a rhythm, but fans tend to forget his less-impressive moments.

And then, after his prison sentence, he came back still looking the part, but was really a spent force. He walked over three overmatched foes in 1995 and 1996 before running into the brick wall of Evander Holyfield. Those fights have been discussed ad nauseam, but suffice to say, in those fights, an opponent with a good game plan, durability, and patience was able to handle Mike’s initial attack, wear him out, and put him away late. It also proved there was more than one way to beat Tyson, as Buster Douglas did something similar, but using different tactics.

Tyson would win a few more, although he looked bad against Botha, and would eventually be battered by Lennox Lewis, then lose two more relatively meaningless fights to end his career.

This sounds more critical than I mean it to be. Mike Tyson really was a great, powerful, and scary fighter. At his best, he would be a handful for any heavyweight in history. But I see him ranked in people’s top 5 or 10. I also see people claim he would be the best ever, head-to-head… and that really isn’t the case.

I’m not done with my top 200 list, and I don’t want to spoil it, but I can safely say that Mike’s resume doesn’t get him into the top ten. And head-to-head, I think Evander Holyfield beats any version of Mike. So does Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, Sonny Liston, and Vitali Klitschko. In addition, I think it’s possible (though less certain) Lennox Lewis, Riddick Bowe, David Tua, Harry Wills, and Wladimir Klitschko all could have beaten even a prime Tyson. I would be happy to explain why, to those who wish to debate any of those matchups.

It’s a shame that Mike Tyson didn’t face his greatest opponents until he was past his prime. It’s possible that the version of Tyson that dominated the division in the late 80s could have defeated Douglas, Holyfield, and Lewis. But based on his behavior when frustrated by lesser foes, I doubt it. Mike was never a quitter, but he could be demoralized, and frustrated into poor tactics. As much as he could look like a monster against intimidated or outgunned opponents, those who could take it and dish it back eventually found themselves with a significant edge.

Jerry Quarry – This one is directed more at the older crowd and hardcore fans. There is a tendency among certain people to romanticize Quarry’s accomplishments. “If only he fought in a different era, he would have been a great champion!” Ehhh…

Jerry Quarry was a good boxer, with a solid chin, good counterpunching skills, and some power. He also cut easily, could be sloppy and lose focus. He was inconsistent, even in his prime. Quarry’s best performances were excellent. But he mixed them with surprisingly poor showings. Early in his career, Jerry lost a wide decision to a past-prime Eddie Machen, beat Brian London and Alex Miteff (also past it), scored a draw and a win against an old Floyd Patterson – and arguably deserved to lose both fights. He beat Thad Spencer when Spencer was intriguing some fight fans, lost a close one to Jimmy Ellis, and was knocked out (albeit controversially) by George Chuvalo. He also beat Buster Mathis and gave Joe Frazier a good fight, but was ultimately battered. In the 70s, he upset the applecart a few times, winning upsets against sluggers Mac Foster, Ron Lyle, and Earnie Shavers, proving he matched up well against aggressive opponents who relied on power. But he also lost again to Frazier, twice to Ali, and once to Norton – all by knockout. Quarry was good, and sometimes brilliant, but he wasn’t consistently great. Maybe he could have won more fights in another era, but it’s also possible that a 6’0”, 190 pound man with a 72” reach, thin skin, and inconsistent focus also fails to break through in other eras. No shame in that. It should be enough that Quarry was very good in a great era. There’s no need to inflate him or assume he could have beaten (fill in the blank).

Underrated

Like my overrated list, this is not necessarily a claim that these guys are the greatest ever or anything like that. It’s simply that the general consensus of their accomplishments is either unfairly harsh, or just insufficient. Here you will find greats with flaws, relatively unknown legends, and unfairly maligned, but still very good, fighters. Here we go…

Harry Wills – There was a group of black heavyweights that roamed the division between around 1905 and 1920ish, that were all capable of competing in later and larger eras, and all kept from title shots by racial and economic politics. Sam Langford, Joe Jeannette, Sam McVey, and Harry Wills were all good enough to be serious threats to the title reigns of Jack Johnson, Jess Willard, and Jack Dempsey. But Johnson consciously avoided most black contenders during his reign, preferring the larger paydays he could receive against white challengers (and possibly having remembered the hell some of these guys gave him before he became champion). Jess Willard was inactive as champion, and only defended his title twice in four years, losing to Dempsey in his second defense. Dempsey himself came along near the end of the era of the heavyweight black foursome, with only Wills as a likely opponent during his reign. Dempsey paid some lip service to the idea of fighting Wills, but his promoter wasn’t enthused by the notion, and the fight never came off.

Of those four, Sam Langford was probably the best, but he was not a natural heavyweight, and he is already recognized as one of the greats by the hardcore fans and experts. Jeanette and McVey were very good, but spent many years fighting mostly each other (and Langford), and didn’t get the opportunity to fight for the world title. Harry Wills came along a little later, reaching his prime in the late 1910s, and posted winning records against all three of them, beating Jeannette once (and drawing twice) while Joe was still a top contender, beating Langford 13 times while he was still viable, and McVey 3 times. Beyond besting his toughest opponents, Wills was also dominant in wins against other heavyweight contenders, defeating Jeff Clark, Jim Johnson, Fred Fulton, Luis Firpo, and Charley Weinert. The Ring Magazine didn’t start ranking fighters until 1924, and formal ranking systems weren’t really developed until that point, so a clear record against top ten opponents isn’t possible. However, a thorough analysis of that era allows me to make what I believe is a pretty good estimate. Harry Wills went 22-6-5(5) against fighters who would likely be ranked in the top 10, and 18-5-5(4) against Hall-of -Famers, as part of an incredible 87-10-6-5(54) overall record during a very deep era. Many considered him the best heavyweight in the world (after the various champions), for nearly a decade. His 22 top ten wins would rank him 4th all time, counting other top fighters before 1924. The politics that kept him from the heavyweight title at least allowed Wills to build his legend against some genuinely great opposition, although it leaves him historically neglected.

Wills, also known as the Black Panther, stood a hair over 6’2” and fought around 220 pounds, making him nearly as a big as modern heavyweights. He possessed uncommon physical strength, crushing power, long arms, and good skills. He wasn’t particularly fast, but he had a good sense of timing and distance that allowed him to land punches against faster opponents.

In a different world, Wills could have been champion as early as 1916 – having lost a few in 1915 while still developing, but then bounced back and won revenge bouts the next year. He was arguably Jess Williard’s best contender, and would likely have won, had they fought somewhere between 1916 and 1919. Wills developed into a massive, athletic fighter, outclassing everyone in front of him. After a 19th round knockout loss to the great Sam Langford in February 1916, until October 1926, Wills would compile a record of 58-2-3-3(34), with the only two losses being a fluke injury stoppage and a disqualification that was rematched four days later. He could arguably have remained champion for a decade, had the chance arisen.

To me, it’s a travesty that Wills isn’t included on every single Greatest Heavyweights top ten list – or even top 5.

Floyd Patterson – Floyd Patterson isn’t entirely underrated. He was the first two-time linear heavyweight champion, and helped bridge the gap between the Marciano and Ali eras. But he often doesn’t receive the historical respect he deserves. Patterson is best known among boxing circles as having terrible punch resistance. Indeed, he did hit the canvas more than any other linear champion. But he also picked himself back up. Every. Single. Time. His recuperative abilities were underrated, and his fighting heart should be unquestioned. But his chin, along with his two losses to Sonny Liston, are what most people seem to remember. But Floyd Patterson was a lot better than that.

Floyd turned pro in 1952, at age 17, just months after winning the Gold Medal as a middleweight in the 1952 Olympics. He fought his early career as a middleweight, and then light heavyweight, exhibiting incredible hand speed and surprising power. He developed a solid defense, working behind a high guard and good head movement.

In 1954, Floyd suffered his first loss, a controversial 8 round decision against the great light heavyweight Joey Maxim, in a fight most observers scored for Patterson.

By the end of 1955, he was dipping his toe in the heavyweight waters, knocking out contender Jimmy Slade in seven. He would narrowly edge Tommy “Hurricane” Jackson in 1956, setting up a fight that November against Archie Moore for the vacant heavyweight title. Patterson won quickly and decisively, blasting out his more experienced foe in 5 one-sided rounds. It was after this point that the criticism started to arrive from the boxing pundits. Patterson’s manager/trainer, Cus D’Amato, was notoriously protective of his charge’s career, and often arranged fights against less-than-stellar opposition. Patterson’s first title defense was legit, albeit uninspiring. Floyd took on prior victim Tommy Jackson, and won more decisively this time around.

His second defense was considered a joke by most, coming against 1956 Olympic Heavyweight gold medalist Pete Rademacher, who was making his professional debut. It was derided as a gimmick as soon as it was announced, and almost resulted in disaster, as Rademacher managed to drop the champion in the 2nd round. Floyd turned it around, however, and put Rademacher on the canvas 7 times before the fight was stopped in the 6th.

Patterson would score knockouts over Roy Harris and Brian London, both good, but not great fighters, all while his biggest challenge loomed in the background. By 1959, Sonny Liston was considered the number 1 contender, and many were pushing for him to get his shot. Instead, in June 1959, Patterson would lose the title in a surprise three round stoppage loss to Swedish contender Ingemar Johansson. Patterson would regain the title the next year, and win the rubber match in 1961, capping an entertaining trilogy, but also tying up the championship for nearly two years. One more successful defense against the solid, but unspectacular Tom McNeely followed.

By this point, the consensus was that Patterson was ducking Sonny Liston. The truth was more complicated, but his manager was definitely trying to avoid the feared fighter from St. Louis. Patterson was a prideful man, however, and eventually insisted on accepting the challenge of Liston. In September 1962, Patterson was blasted out in one quick and painful round. Ten months later, embarrassed by his capitulation to the much larger man, he tried it again, and only lasted a few seconds longer.

For many, this is where Patterson’s legacy ends. A protected fighter with a weak chin, presiding over a bridge between two stronger eras, losing badly to his first real challenge.

But there’s much more to the Patterson story.

Floyd was humiliated by his losses. He sought therapy. He spent time in seclusion. He felt lost. But at that point, something changed… he no longer had a title to defend. And he actually got better. Just six months after his second loss to Liston, Patterson hit the comeback trail. Only 29 years old, he flew to Stockholm, where he enjoyed popularity thanks to his wars with Swedish hero Johansson, and blasted out Italian fringe contender Santo Amonti – in a reasonably tough comeback fight. Then he stepped up the competition, and outclassed longtime contender Eddie Machen over twelve. He beat tough gatekeeper Charlie Powell in six, outclassed up-and-comer (and future contender) George Chuvalo over twelve, and knocked out Swedish prospect Tod Herring in three.

This surge gave Floyd a shot at the new champion, Muhammad Ali. There was a great deal of animosity between the two, and the trash talk led to a surprisingly brutal fight between two men who ordinarily relied on speed to outbox opponents. Unfortunately for Patterson, Ali did everything a little better. He was bigger, stronger, faster, younger, and was in his absolute prime. Patterson fought well, and bravely, but was stopped on his feet in the 12th round. But the new Patterson wasn’t finished. This loss didn’t ruin him, like Liston almost did.

Floyd fought on, and continued facing top opponents. There were a couple journeymen following a brutal and impressive knockout win over Henry Cooper, and then Patterson took on rising contender Jerry Quarry. It was a close, tactical affair, with most observers scoring the fight for Patterson. But the judges disagreed, and Floyd settled for a draw against his younger foe. Three months later, he would get a rematch, this time facing Quarry in the first round of the WBA Heavyweight Elimination Tournament. Quarry started well, knocking Patterson down twice early on, but Patterson warmed up and closed strong, arguably doing enough to nick the fight on the cards. But again, the judges liked Quarry’s work a bit more, and Jerry would win a majority decision.

Nearly a year later, the hard-luck Patterson was denied victory again, appearing to outbox and outfight the eventual winner of the WBA tourney, Jimmy Ellis, but ended up losing a close decision. That decision was decided solely by the referee.

Patterson was still a top contender, and arguably deserved to be 3-0 in his last three fights. He took two years off, and returned against Charley Green in September 1970. Over the next 14 months, he would win seven straight over journeymen and clubfighters, culminating in a February 1972 match against his first contender in years – Oscar Bonavena. The powerful Argentine was difficult early, and dropped Floyd in the 4th. But the former champ rallied hard, and took the nod after 10 tough rounds. Some disputed the decision, but it was close and certainly not a robbery. The 37 year old with the weak chin held his own against the 29 year old slugger. Floyd would beat up tough prospect Pedro Agosto over six rounds, and then face his final opponent, old rival Muhammad Ali. This time, the two were more respectful, and Floyd actually fought better than their first fight, landing some shots and making Ali work. But Patterson was cut badly in the 6th, and his eye shut in the 7th, and he was ruled to be unable to continue after that. Floyd would hang up the gloves after this point.

What I want to highlight is how much good work Patterson did after losing his title to Liston. He was written off as a spent force by many, but would compile a record of 17-4-1(11) after the Liston loss, with two of those losses coming to Muhammad Ali, and the other two being fights he likely deserved to win. He could easily have been 20-2(11) during that span. In total, Floyd Patterson would finish his career 55-8-1(40), going 11-7-1(7) against the top ten (14-5 could have been fair), 3-5(3) against Hall-of-Famers, and 8-4(8) in fights for the heavyweight title. He came back after two devastating losses, and remained a viable contender for several years, despite being consistently outsized, losing clearly only to the greatest of all time.

Yeah, Floyd Patterson is underrated.

John Ruiz – Okay, before anyone complains, I’m not saying that John Ruiz was great by any means. He wasn’t particularly athletic, he didn’t have sublime skills, and he was often unbearable to watch. He also started to reach title contention at the end of a good era, and reached his prime in the beginning of a pretty weak one. Against the best, he lost as much as he won.

And yet… John Ruiz is often mentioned as being a downright bad fighter. When discussions of the “worst heavyweight titleholders” happen, Ruiz is almost always included. But the facts don’t bear this out. His dull persona and ugly style helped perpetuate the myth of Ruiz as a lousy or at least mediocre heavyweight contender. The thing is, he wasn’t. Not at all. If anything, he was very good. After a couple close decision losses early in his career against fellow prospects, he was considered a bit of an also-ran in the heavyweight prospect scene. Then in March 1996, live on HBO, Ruiz was caught by a wicked left hook and obliterated by David Tua in just 19 seconds. The loss was physically devastating, but Ruiz didn’t let it ruin him. He worked his way back, first beating clubfighters, then fringe contender Jimmy Thunder, and former contender Tony Tucker. Four and a half years and 11 wins after the Tua debacle, Ruiz challenged Evander Holyfield for the vacant WBA title. This is where Ruiz made his mark. He lost a narrow (and slightly controversial) decision in their first fight, which was close enough to warrant a rematch. Ruiz then edged Holyfield in the second fight (in which he was arguably knocked out by a body shot, but convinced the referee that the legal punch was below the belt), and held Holyfield to an also-controversial draw in fight number 3. All three fights were ugly, and arguments could be made that Ruiz deserved to lose all of them (though many argued the opposite). But he held his own, and fought basically evenly with Evander Holyfield for 36 rounds, solidifying him as a top contender, and giving him an alphabet strap – which allowed Ruiz to hold some leverage in getting big fights.

Ruiz would go on to beat the talented (albeit inconsistent) Kirk Johnson via an ugly, mauling disqualification, lose a wide decision to a near-prime (and still blazing-fast) Roy Jones, outpoint top-five heavyweight Hasim Rahman, stop awkward and underrated Fres Oquendo in 11, edge a close decision over a resurgent Andrew Golota, lose a decision to highly skilled (and still-quick) James Toney, only for it to be overturned as a no-decision, and then lose back-to-back super-close decisions to Nicolay Valuev and Ruslan Chagaev. I know, that was a hell of a run-on sentence. But it’s also the description of a very solid run. That would mark the end of an eleven fight streak where Ruiz would fight legitimate contenders in every bout. He would officially be 5-4-1-1(1) during that span. However, Ruiz only clearly lost two of those, and only one was upheld as a loss. Against the best of an admittedly weak division, John Ruiz would run through 11 fights against contenders and emerge with a winning record, despite most boxing pundits and fans mocking his abilities and decrying the depth of the division. Ruiz wasn’t pretty, but he was effective. After the two losses to the Eastern bloc, he would score one more good win, a clear decision over fringe contender Jameel McCline. He would lose a little more clearly to Nicolay Valuev in a rematch, then two fights later, was stopped in 9 against David Haye. The former cruiserweight Haye was using Ruiz as a step up in class to test himself against heavyweights. This rather-one-sided loss would end his career. Fight fans breathed a sigh of relief.

Ruiz’s style could charitably be described as “octopus,” where he would plod forward, throw a single jab, then clinch. He would wrestle inside, using his physical strength and underrated infighting to maul his opponents and stifle their attack. Despite not being exceptionally tall or long-limbed, his opponents would find themselves enveloped in Ruiz’s arms again and again, and only opponents like Jones (who had the footspeed to stay out of range), could avoid the Ruiz tentacle attack. And then, once in a while, he would launch a sneaky right cross, which could do some damage. He was average sized for a heavyweight of his era, had average power, average speed, a solid (but not amazing) chin, and decent skills. But unless a fighter could overwhelm him with speed (Jones, Toney, Haye) or power (Tua), then he would almost always make for a close fight, win, lose, or draw. Ruiz would finish 5-6-1-1(1) against top ten heavyweights, with at least 4 of those 6 losses being somewhat debatable. In a different universe, Ruiz could have been 9-2-1-1(1) against top ten opponents, which would actually put him near the top 30 all-time (on my top 200 list), as painful as that sounds to boxing fans.

Ruiz wasn’t usually fun to watch, he was a bit of an actor anytime a punch strayed near his beltline, and had the world’s most obnoxious trainer through the first 2/3 of his career. But he was a top contender for almost a decade, and beat some legitimately decent opponents. Ruiz wasn’t great, but at his best, he was deceptively good.

Johnny Risko – Who the hell is Johnny Risko? I’m guessing that might be what a reader would be asking themselves right now. Even many boxing experts know little about the man. He was never champion, and he doesn’t come up on many lists of greatest fighters never to hold a title. Before I started my Greatest Heavyweight project back in 2011, I had only seen his name a few times, having heard almost nothing about him.

And yet, Risko is possibly the most underrated heavyweight ever.

The Cleveland Rubber Man turned pro in 1922, fighting as a fairly short (5’11”), stocky heavyweight. He had incredible punch resistance. He started 8-0-1(6), but as his competition improved, he begun mixing in losses with his wins, at a rate which would inspire most modern fans to wash their hands of him as a contender. Boxers fought much more often in those days, however, and a single loss could be shrugged off when they would be fighting again in two weeks. He would also tend to lose to his better opponents, and beat the weaker ones. Early losses were against good fighters like Quintin Rojas, Sully Montgomery, and Jack Renault. He was dominated by Young Stribling in his 23rd fight, and dropped a decision to a young Jack Sharkey in his 27th. But all the while, Risko was learning his craft and honing his skills. He lost a wide, but fairly competitive decision to the great Gene Tunney in his 29th fight.

January 1926, in his 31st fight, Risko finally broke through, beating his first top ten contender, Young Bob Fitzsimmons, via a 12 round decision. From then on, Risko became more competitive with the top contenders. He would lose to Jack Delaney, Young Stribling again, Mike McTigue, Tommy Loughran, and Harry Persson, while beating Rojas and Emilio Solomon. Risko finished 1926 with a number 10 ranking from The Ring, and a great deal of valuable experience.

1927 was a stronger year for Risko, with a draw against Jack DeMave, another loss to Tommy Loughran, wins over Sandy Seifert, Quintin Rojas, Jim Herman, Sully Montgomery, and a rematch win over Jack DeMave. After an October points loss to Tom Heeney, Risko would go on a tear, beating Paulino Uzcudun, Phil Scott, Jack Sharkey, and Johnny Squires, all by decision. He would drop decisions to Jim Maloney and Ernie Schaaf to end 1928, but would still enjoy a number 5 ranking at the end of ’27, and a number 7 ranking after ’28.

In February 1929, Risko would engage all-time-great Max Schmeling in the Ring Magazine fight of the year, brawling with the German future champion, and losing in a valiant effort, after being dropped 4 times, and stopped in the 9th.

Risko would beat Otto von Porat, but lose to Emmett Rocco by decision, then start an odd streak of losing 3 of his next 4 fights via disqualification. He would rebound, beating Jim Maloney and Ernie Schaaf, then lose to Tuffy Griffiths.

As I’m writing this, I realize that I’m still only up to 1930, and I’ve already devoted more than 500 words to less than half of Risko’s career. He seriously fought on relatively even terms with EVERYONE who mattered at heavyweight. A win and a draw against Victorio Campolo, another win over Uzcudun, another loss to Griffiths, a pair of losses to all-time-great Mickey Walker, another win over Jim Maloney, a loss to Stanley Poreda… the list goes on. Risko had a great run in 1931, beating Tom Heeney, King Levinsky, future champ Max Baer, Tony Galento, and KO Christner, before dropping decisions to Loughran and Baer in rematches. He’d go on another good run in ’32, outpointing Christner again, Mickey Walker for the first time, Tuffy Griffiths, and King Levinsky twice. Despite losses to Dick Daniels and Patsy Perroni, he would remain in contention throughout 1932 and 1933, finally getting a win over Loughran, and scoring a rare knockout of Big Boy Peterson.

Risko would begin to show some wear, and would start to fade in 1934. After a decision loss to Charley Retzlaff at the end of 1934, Risko would take almost 3 years off, heading home to work in the family bakery in Cleveland. Nearly 3 years of recuperation (and presumably plenty of delicious baked goods) would allow him to return to the ring in November 1937 against journeyman Bob Olin. He would fight several more times, alternating between upper and lower tier fighters, beating clubfighters, and losing to the likes of John Henry Lewis, Red Burman, and finally, in his last fight in 1940, Tony Musto.

Risko would finish with a less-than-stellar record of 80-53-8-1(22). He never demonstrated much power, and usually won his fights through pressure and activity. A shoulder dislocation early in his career never healed properly, and he never developed a good right hand as a result, mostly relying on a jab and strong left hook.

However, his limitations and record mask the fact that against top-ten rated opponents, he finished 17-18-2. He would go 2-4 against fighters who held the heavyweight title, and 6-11 against Hall-of-Famers. His 17 wins over top ten opponents tie him for 8th, all-time, at heavyweight. To fight on nearly even terms with the best of his division for a decade, despite being short, chunky, slow, pillow-fisted, and mostly one-armed is impressive. But to do it without any sort of modern recognition is borderline ludicrous. Johnny Risko almost never makes anybody’s list of all-time great heavyweights. That’s a shame, but also allows me to add him to this list over underrated heavyweights.